


This Rebellious Nature

by keelywolfe



Category: Star Trek: 2009
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarek takes a teenaged Spock with him on an Ambassadorial trip to Earth. This does not work out the way a father might hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His initial reaction to planet Earth was that it smelled unpleasant. Something sharp that tickled at his sinuses like a sneeze that refused to come and when he stepped off the shuttle, blinking slightly in the sudden brightness that was still much dimmer than his home, Spock raised a hand automatically to his mouth before he considered the impoliteness of it.

Spock dropped his hand immediately but not before his father noticed.

"It is a temporary effect brought on by the extra oxygen in the atmosphere," Sarek told him quietly. "You will adjust."

"Yes, Father," Spock replied, falling into step next to him. The transportation station was a very small one; few other passengers were making their way to their shuttles and most of them were in uniforms designating them as members of Starfleet. Others in soiled clothing were working in various areas, loading and unloading shuttles of luggage and shipping containers.

His father stopped near the entrance and turned towards him, his expression as serene as always.

"My transport will arrive soon," his father told him. "I have a meeting with several members of Starfleet. You will remain here and when I return, we will journey together to the Vulcan Embassy."

No other information was offered and Spock did not question his father.

"Yes, Father," Spock murmured again, settling on a nearby bench with his padd and resumed his studies. It was, perhaps, childish not to offer his father a leave-taking but the resentment still aching stubbornly in his chest demanded it. His presence here was unwanted, he knew, insisted upon by his mother, and her argument with his father was still fresh in his mind. Her son, her half-human son, had never so much as stepped foot on Earth and this time Sarek would be taking him, Ambassadorial duties be damned.

No amount of discussion on Sarek's part that he would be too busy and Spock's that he needed to study would sway her and so here they were in Iwoa...no, Iowa. Strange Human names.

He heard his father sigh faintly before he walked away and only then did Spock raise his eyes to his surroundings. The blue of the sky was not a surprise; he had studied the environment of Earth extensively, but seeing it was still something of a wonder, as were the white splotches of clouds.

His gaze drifting idly to a nearby group of workers, all of them operating amongst the raucous shouting of another Human who appeared to be a foreman of sorts. They were loading large shipping containers by hand into a nearby shuttle and Spock wondered briefly why they did not use any of the basic loading equipment that was available to them.

He dismissed the thought quickly. It was useless to wonder at the illogic of Humans. His curiosity satisfied, Spock was returning his attention to his padd when a loud shout caught his attention again.

"Hey, watch it!"

A large crate crashed explosively to the ground, narrowly missing several of the workers as it burst open and cast various pieces of equipment in all directions. As he watched, a large gear rolled to Spock's feet and came to a stop inches from his boots.

One of the workers stalked towards him, cursing vulgarly and he snatched up parts as he walked, "Fucking idiots," he muttered, "Can't even figure out weights—hey, you okay?"

It took Spock a moment to realize the Human was addressing him and he looked up, lips opening to say he was unhurt. Blue eyes, nearly the same color as the sky above them, shining with concern out of a sweaty face. He had no experience in gauging the ages of Humans but this one seemed young, perhaps not much younger than he himself.

The human frowned, tugging his gloves off and slapping them on the bench next to Spock as he crouched in front of him.

"Are you hurt? I didn't think any of the pieces came this far but—"

"I am uninjured," Spock broke in, abruptly realizing that he had not answered the Human's first imprecise question.

The grin that curved the Human's face was disturbing, such a blatant show of emotion, as was the...relief? It was difficult to discern.

"Good. The guy running this is a stupid piece of shit but it'd be worse if he started killing bystanders." The Human stood and Spock returned his attention to his padd. A touch against his ear, lightly stroking up to the tip, made him start and he reached up to snatch the hand away from him. The Human gave a low grunt of pain but when Spock turned a cool look up to him, his grin hadn't faded.

"You're Vulcan, aren't you? That's so cool," the young man said, not even seeming to notice the overbearing pressure Spock's fingers were putting on his wrist. He released the young man abruptly, unaccountably disturbed by the cool feel of his skin. The Human only shook his hand absently and flopped down on the bench next to him, elbows resting on the back of it and his legs sprawled apart.

"I'm Jim," he offered. "Didn't catch your name..."

The Human, Jim, Spock's mind automatically added, let the sentence dangle, an invitation that Spock refused. He did not look at the Human as he chuckled softly, drawing one leg up so that his boot scraped the rough plasticrete loudly.

"No name, eh?" Jim said. He shifted slightly, his hip brushing Spock's in an entirely unnecessary way. "A tease. I like that. Well, if you won't tell me your name then I'll have to think of one for you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock could see Jim tip his head back, studying the sky. "I've heard people refer to Vulcans as Greenies before but that doesn't seem to suit you," he mused. "Everyone always sees the ears first but no one ever calls you Pointies. I wonder why."

"Be off, thou clerk, thou art a fool," Spock murmured in Vulcan, his only acknowledgment of this foolishness.

"Never wilt thou see the day when I will love thee," Jim returned smartly. His accent was atrocious, Human tongues not generally capable of forming the syllables of the Vulcan language properly, but he was easily understood.

Spock turned his head just slightly, looking at the young man next to him. His grin was unchanged, his eyes still that startling, sharp blue, and his tongue was soft pink as he wet his lips, slowly.

"Should I call you E'tum?" Jim asked softly, "Or Fal?"

Beautiful, Spock's mind translated his poorly spoken Vulcan automatically. Beautiful. Hot.

Jim's gaze lowered, resting on Spock's mouth. "No, I think I'll call you Svai."

The word rolled off his tongue perfectly, the name of an aesthetically pleasing flower native to Vulcan.

He might have protested Jim's choice of names if another Human hadn't called out to them, irritably, "Hey, you gonna get back here and help clean this shit up today?"

"Fuck off," Jim called back, not even looking at the man. His attention was fully on Spock and the brush of his fingertips against the back of Spock's neck made him stiffen, surely intentional. "What do you say we go get a drink?"

"Alcohol does not affect Vulcans," Spock told him softly and if his voice was a little choked, it had nothing to do with the light touch lingering just behind his ear.

Soft little laugh. "More for me then. What do you say?"

His father had told him to remain here but he hardly needed Spock's assistance with their belongings and Spock knew where they were staying while they were on Earth. He was classified as an adult; he did not need his father's permission to...do as he pleased.

"Very well," Spock heard himself say and Jim's grin was blinding as he stood and held out a hand. Spock steeled himself and took it, felt the only the barest rush of heat from the touch as he stood and followed Jim, their hands still clasped between them.

The ride to the bar had proved interesting; Jim's choice of transportation was a motorcycle and Spock had found himself pressed against Jim's back, arms around his slim waist as wind snatched away any words spoken between them.

It had been exhilarating; the wind in his face, tousling his hair and the warmth of Jim all along his front but it had been over far too soon, the loud music and garish lights that they drove into declaring that they had reached their destination.

Jim rolled to a stop, shifting his feet to the ground and it was with no little regret that Spock pulled away from him and stood, surveying their destination with some distaste.

"Come on," Jim said and if he saw Spock flinch slightly when he snatched up his hand, Jim gave no indication of it. He only twined their fingers together and pulled Spock reluctantly behind him.

"I do not think—" Spock began but the rest was lost in the harsh blare of music as Jim pushed the door open. The crush of bodies around them, pressing against them, was perhaps more unexpected than it should have been and Spock pulled his thoughts in tightly, resigned himself to a great deal of unpleasantness this afternoon.

Clearly he should have considered this more carefully before agreeing to it.

He followed the pull of Jim's hand to one corner, sliding into the booth that Jim indicated. One drink and then he would request to be returned to the transportation station—

Jim's hand curving behind his neck made his thoughts stutter, stumbling over each other at the damp touch of breath against his ear. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

He was released as abruptly as he'd been touched and by the time Jim returned, glasses in both hands, he had recovered somewhat and the tingling sensation left by Jim's touch had subsided.  
Both glasses were thunked on the table with careless ease, one drink that Spock recognized as beer and something pinkish-orange in a tall, narrow glass, frosted with cold and bedecked with straws and an umbrella. Jim pushed the latter glass in front of him, retaining the beer for himself and Spock didn't quite wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"Alcohol does not—" Spock began and he forced himself not to flinch as Jim silenced him with a finger against his lips, that faint tingle returning in a much more intimate place. He wondered vaguely if Jim was aware that Vulcans were touch telepaths; it seemed likely, he obviously spoke some of the language, and yet, to be so casual with a touch-

"Doesn't affect Vulcans, I know," Jim finished. "I'm not trying to poison you, I promise. Just try it."

Reluctantly, Spock raised it to his lips and sipped it. Fruity-sweet, refreshingly cold and he took a longer drink than he'd intended, savoring the delicate flavor.

"Mango juice," Jim said to Spock's unasked question as he took a long pull off his own drink. "See? You like it. Would I lead you wrong, Svai?"

"That is not my name," Spock informed him, taking another sip of the juice. It was quite enjoyable.

Jim laughed, slouching against the back of the booth. "It should be."

"I am not a plant."

"No," Jim moved to rest his elbows on the table and leaned in, far closer than was publicly appropriate and yet Spock found he had no urge to draw away. "You're not a plant, or a flower, but you're like one. Just like the svai flower, prickly and sharp if you try to pick it, but lovely." Spock watched, mesmerized, as Jim licked his lips. "Worth the effort."

"You're here early, aren't you, Jimmy?"

To Spock's surprise, Jim stiffened, turning towards that voice. A tall human with dark hair and an unkempt growth of beard was approaching them, a half-full mug of beer clenched in his fist.

"Hey, Jackson, "Jim said coolly, "I wasn't aware that you paid that close attention to me."

The Human, Jackson, laughed in an unpleasant fashion that made a prickle of apprehension slide up Spock's nerves.

"I thought you got a job to make your momma happy," Jackson jeered, tipping back his mug and finishing his drink with two large swallows, wiping his mouth vulgarly with the back of his hand.

"I did, making your momma happy," Jim returned easily, "Does she talk about me in the morning?"

"Snotty fucking—" Jackson trailed off as his eyes finally fell on Spock and he blinked in shock. "Is he a Vulcan?"

"Nah, it's the latest in plastic surgery on the coast," Jim said bitingly. "You should try it; maybe if your ears were a little bigger you might hear me telling you to fuck off for a change."

"Seriously, you brought a Vulcan to a bar?" Raucous laughter. "What's he drinking, carrot juice? Christ, Kirk, if I'd known you liked to play it that way, I would have bent you over years ago."

Jim was on his feet instantly and Spock noted with some alarm that his hands were already curled into fists, indicating that this was about to degenerate into a brawl. In a crowded bar it seemed certain that someone would be injured, perhaps severely. It seemed quite logical to stand as Jackson turned towards Jim and to grip his neck just so, the proper pressure points easily found.

Instantly, the Human sagged downward, onto their table where the glasses clattered to the floor and shattered. The table quickly followed in a booming cacophony and the music silenced instantly, hundreds of eyes suddenly cast in their direction.

Jim was staring at him, all blue eyes and silence, for once, and Spock shifted uncomfortably and wondered if perhaps he should apologize for interfering so precipitously.

"You knocked him out cold by touching him," Jim said blankly and just as Spock was formulating an appropriate response Jim's face split into a large grin, a whoop of laugher echoing through the silent bar. Something warm and genuine bloomed in the area of Spock's middle, near to his heart. "That is so cool! Man, you have got to show me how you—"

"Damn you, Jim!" The shout from the bar interrupted him, the bartender leaning across the counter to glare at them both. "What the hell did you do this time? I can't afford to be replacing tables every time you come in here, boy!"

"Sorry, man," Jim called. "I'll give you some credits for it Friday when I get paid!"

"As if you ever get paid," was growled back but the music wavering back to life seemed to indicate that this altercation was over. Spock stood awkwardly, not looking at the snoring Human at their feet.

An arm being slung around his shoulder jolted him, and he turned to Jim, swallowing away the sudden surge of moisture in his mouth at the closeness of Jim's face to his own.

"Looks like the drink is out," Jim said. He didn't seem particularly upset by that. "Want to see if we can get into some other trouble?"

The logical response would be no, that he needed to return to the transportation station and that trouble was not something that should be sought. It was the logical response, so Spock would not have been able to explain why he nodded slightly, murmuring a quiet, "Yes."

Jim's laugh was sweet and low, soft against his ear. "That's what I like to hear. Come on, Svai."

"That is not my name," Spock protested, weakly, as Jim snatched up his hand again and was once again pulling him along through the throngs of writhing dancers.

The air had cooled considerably by the time they stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind them cutting off the worst of the noise. Next to him, Jim sighed heavily and released his hand and Spock slowly clenched it into a fist, still feeling the hot tingle of Jim's touch. The touch of wetness on his cheek startled him and Spock blinked upward, felt another drop on his nose.

"Yeah, that's typical," Jim said, resigned. "It would rain."

There was water falling from the sky, little puffs of dust from the ground as the drops hit. Spock reached out and felt the patter of it on his hands, cool droplets puddling into his palms.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked, amused. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, head tipped slightly to the side as he watched and Spock drew his hands back self-consciously, wiping the wetness away on the leg of his trousers.

"I have never seen rain," Spock informed him. For a long moment, Jim only gaped at him and Spock might have reminded him that Vulcan was a desert planet where rain fell with the greatest of rarity if Jim hadn't abruptly grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, out into the cascade of it.

His clothes were drenched instantly, seeping coolness wetting him to the skin and Spock felt blinded by the rush of water, droplets clinging to his lashes. Jim's laughter was like a guide and he followed it blindly, licking the clean taste of the rain from his lips as he turned into it. Tipped his head up and felt the cold wash of it down his face, plastering his hair to his head, dripping from his nose and chin.

"Come on!" Jim shouted next to him, the words drowning in the pounding water surrounding him and Spock stumbled after the pull on his arm, lost in this unfamiliarity and only able to trust Jim to guide him.

They ended up in an alley next to the bar, beneath the edge of the roof that only partially shielded them from the storm. It was enough for Spock to lean against the wall, blinking the water out of his eyes and seeing Jim laughing in front of him. His hair was water-darkened, lashes spiky and damp, and his eyes seemed only the bluer in the faint light. His thin shirt was transparent with the wetness, the dark points of his nipples clearly visible and Spock could only stare at him stupidly, wide-eyed and cold in his sodden clothing.

Jim's laughter died away, his grin fading into something else entirely, something darker, warmer that Spock could not interpret. He stepped in closer and Spock could not move, felt the warmth coming from Jim as he lightly rested his hands on Spock's shoulders.

"Svai," Jim murmured, barely audible in the roaring liquid fall surrounding him and Spock could not protest that it was not his name before Jim's mouth covered his.

His lips were cold with rain, sliding in the wetness, and he swallowed Spock's first startled gasp as he almost pulled away, caught by the pressure of Jim's hands on his shoulders. Then Spock leaned into it, pressing their mouths together hard, searching for any warmth that Jim had to offer, running his tongue over the hard edge of Jim's teeth and then inside where the real heat was.

Jim tasted bitter, his tongue driving against Spock's eagerly, seemingly oblivious to Spock's clumsy attempts to reciprocate. He was aware that this was how humans kissed but had never tried it before, never even witnessed it, all his experience was in his reading but there were no words available to him now, Vulcan and Standard tangling together in an unspeakable mass in his head.

Hands shifted from his shoulder to his face, holding him firmly for those rough kisses and Spock knew he could break free from Jim's grip in an instant. Instead, he tipped his head into the kiss, hard and biting and wet, rain flavoring every touch of their lips.

Shivering a little in the cold wetness, Spock reached up and laid his hands over Jim's, let his fingers trace the fine lines of metacarpals beneath thin, cool skin. Jim broke the kiss with a little gasp, let their fingers tangle together, sliding against each other while rain dripped from their fingertips, seeped between them to slicken their palms.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Jim leaned in to whisper it against his ear, licking before he even finished speaking, a wet, nasty swipe of tongue all the way to the point of Spock's ear that had him choking on a startled moan. "Yeah, I know you do, fuck, so sexy, touch me more, you—"

Words bitten off as he buried his face against Spock's throat so he could bite the pulse there, let one hand slide away from Spock's fumbling grip and down his clinging wet shirt. It was too thick to tug easily aside, sodden and cumbersome, and Jim abandoned his attempts quickly, choosing instead it burrow a hand beneath it, cold and damp as it swept over Spock's back.

Even with Jim pressed against him, Spock was so cold he was shuddering with it, holding Jim almost too tightly but he didn't let go, didn't try to get away. The building behind him was a necessary support and Spock sagged against it, biting his own lip even as Jim sank his teeth lightly into the thin skin at his throat, mouthing bruises into fragile tissue.

They were so tight against each other that Jim could only just barely worm a hand between them, fingertips pressing low on Spock's belly and he managed to inch them lower, past the waistband of Spock's pants even as he worked a foot between Spock's, urging him to spread his legs so that Jim could push a knee between them.

Finally, there was some heat, his own hot flesh in the cool palm of Jim's hand and Spock breathed sharply, faintest sound deep in his throat as Jim wrapped a hand around him and just squeezed. He couldn't get enough leverage to actually stroke but Spock was moving against him, just a little, and it was almost sufficient.

"That's it," Jim crooned, "I've got you. I've got you, baby. Svai." Spock turned blindly towards his voice, their mouths skidding against each other. He caught Jim's mouth easily, letting his teeth sink into the soft fleshiness of Jim's lower lip and dimly he heard the startled sound Jim made. The back of his head smacked into the wall with a hard thud, stars sparkling in his vision as their kiss turned suddenly fierce, Jim driving their lips together brutally.

Crushed their mouths together, hard enough that there was pain, teeth clicking and then biting, pushing against each other like trying to steal the other's breath and the sounds Jim was making, deep and throaty made Spock want to savage his mouth, push through the bitter taste of beer and the clear wetness of rain to find the taste that was uniquely Jim.

Rain was sliding into his eyes, wetting his face as Jim tore his mouth away, throwing his head back with a groan and for the first time Spock noticed the line of hardness rubbing against his hip. Jim's erection rubbing against him even as Jim was stroking him, hard, quick jerks of his hand and wrist that were maddeningly perfect, Jim's hard weight tight against him and they were all but wrestling against each other, hard kisses between snarls and panting bites. Mashed against each other, both working towards their own peak.

"Come out with me tomorrow," Jim demanded, pushing his face in so close to Spock's that it blurred his vision and he had to close his eyes, unable to look at that swollen mouth and retain what little was left of his control.

"Come on, tell me you'll come out with me tomorrow." Another hard bite, against his throat, Jim trailing bites upward and Spock nearly squealed as those sharp teeth caught his ear, scrabbling frantically for Jim's shoulders, uncertain even then if it was push him away or hold him there. "I'll fuck you tomorrow...let you fuck me. I'll do anything you want, just say you'll come out with me."

"I...yes," Spock gasped. "I..."

Jim jerked away from him at the moment the word yes fell from his lips, the rain sweeping hard against Spock in his absence. A loud curse fell from his own lips, a strangled snarl that matched the redness flaring behind his eyes, his chill washed away in the hot rush of his fury.

Only to melt into a near scream as Jim fell to his knees, yanked his trousers down to his hips and swallowed him down, his mouth hotter than Spock could have imagined. If he would ever have imagined anything like this, Jim's hands brutal-hard on his hips, holding him upright as he worked his tongue against the tip of Spock's erection.

He was drowning, illogically, on solid land, soaked in rain, flooded with sensation as Jim sucked him, slick mouth and tongue drawing him out dangerously deeper until Spock could only hold on. One hand was strangled in Jim's hair, holding on desperately and the other pressed against his mouth, his teeth buried in one knuckle hard enough that he tasted his own blood.

Spock came to the water-soaked taste of copper on his lips, floodgates flying open, drawing him down in the whirlpool of his orgasm and Jim never flinched, swallowed around him while Spock shuddered helplessly, fighting with every desperate fragment of control he had left to not scream aloud, submerged in something unexpected and wonderful and overwhelmingly good.

He blinked dazedly into the rain trying to gather...to gather something, some semblance of control but Jim's face in front of his own, dripping wetness and swollen-mouthed tore it away again. He watched mutely as Jim fumbled his belt open, yanking whatever clothing he could aside. Spock hissed when Jim grabbed his hand, swamped abruptly with emotions that weren't his own, shields thin as cobwebs.

Pushed his hand into the front of his pants and Spock was too uselessly limp to do anything but let him, Jim chanting breathlessly into his ear and his mind, _want/need/beautiful, fuck, so beautiful wanna again, do it Svai, want this, want you_

He let Jim shape his hand around the hard, hot wetness of his cock and the sudden rush of Jim's breath against his neck made chill bumps rise in his skin. Spock tried to obey the frantic command echoing through him, dazedly stroking once, twice, faltering until Jim's hand curved around him again and guided him, wedging their hands between both of them.

"That's it, fuck, yeah, come on, come on," Jim whispered achingly, trailing into a moan even as he pressed his open mouth wetly against Spock. Heat, again, ragged spurts against his hand and dripping down his fingers that was not rain, the taste of himself on Jim's lips and this was...it was...

Spock lay mutely against the wall as Jim laid his head shakily into the crook of his neck, tipped his face into the rain and let it run wetly down.

Spock was shivering constantly by the time they returned to the transportation station, his face buried in the meager warmth of Jim's neck as he clung to him almost desperately, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.

The vague collection of travelers was smaller now even than before and beneath one of the overhangs, out of the rain, an unexpected figure standing, hands clasped behind him.

Swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat, Spock climbed off the motorcycle. He was already walking away, the pressure of his father's eyes on him oppressive, when a hand snatched at his wrist, holding him back.

"You're meeting me again tomorrow," Jim stated, no question in his voice. _You promised_ was unspoken although Spock protested silently that promises made under such duress were not meant to be kept. Perhaps it showed in his eyes, perhaps not, but Jim did not release him, ignored his resistant pull as he tried to free himself. Spock was acutely aware of his father watching them, of how he must appear, his hair wet and mussed, his clothing a wreck. Jim was in much the same state, his mouth still swollen and pink, with obvious muddy stains on the knees of his jeans.

Truly, they could not have been more obvious if Spock had declared aloud everything that had occurred in that alley.

"Tomorrow," Jim persisted and in desperation, Spock nodded, struggling for the control he would need to face his father. It was not acceptance, he told himself, only an acknowledgment, not a lie, but the grin that lit Jim's face made a certain aching swell hard in his gut.

Jim's eyes flicked from his own to a place behind him, surely looking at his father and when he called up to him, Spock could only close his eyes in despair that was at least hidden from the man standing silently behind him.

"Good afternoon, sir!" Jim called, bright and cheeky, so Human, and only then did he release Spock. Mud spattered over Spock's shoes as Jim guided the motorcycle away and he allowed himself the briefest of moments to watch him disappear into the gray wash of rain. Then he took a breath, his expression one of Vulcan impassiveness as he turned towards his father.

He stepped up on the platform, controlling his shivers with pure determination. "Father," he said, quietly.

His father did not look at him, only out at the falling rain. "Spock," he said, finally. "Our transport will arrive soon."

They stood together in silence, tremors of cold struggling past Spock's control and soon he was shaking violently, felt an ill flush of heat on his cheeks. The sudden warmth being settled over his shoulders startled him and he accepted his father's long coat with quiet gratitude. His father did not seem to feel the chill in the air, his own clothing dry and clean, a stark contrast to Spock's.

"Your mother contacted me while you were otherwise occupied," his father informed him coolly, his eyes once again on the falling rain. "You had not responded to your communicator and she was concerned for your wellbeing."

With a sinking heart, Spock fumbled for his communicator and saw that he had several waiting messages from his mother and a few from his father as well. Shame was blossoming through the cracks of his control and Spock swallowed hard, trying to find words that could express his apology.

"Father—" he began, hoarsely.

"We will not speak of this again," his father interrupted.

"Yes, Father," Spock murmured.

True to his word, they did not. Spock contacted his mother at the Embassy and assured her that he was unharmed and had only left his communicator off, soothed her Human worries with familiarity of long practice. He spent the next day in bed, alternating between a chill and a fever, sleeping fitfully and occasionally gazing out his window at the falling rain. He did not imagine that a Human might be standing in it, hands in his pockets and eyes gray in the cold fall of water around him.

Two Earth days later they returned to Vulcan and Spock returned to his studies. The time before he could apply to the Vulcan Science Academy was short and Spock was well aware that what might be adequate for a Vulcan would never be enough for him. He needed to be amongst the best and better than that to even be considered for admission.

Applying to Starfleet was nearly an afterthought but a logical one. There was always a chance that his very best would not be good enough and he would be rejected from the Academy, after all. He had to cultivate all available options.

It had nothing to do with a memory of rain, that much was certain. Nothing to do with blue eyes and a laughing smile from a young man whose last name he didn't even know. Jim was an astonishingly common name on Earth, he had learned some time ago, even in Iowa.

He did not consider his one illogical tryst even once when he sent in his application and if occasionally in mediation he allowed himself to recall, very briefly, blue eyes awash with rain and the feel of a mouth against his own, he spoke of it to no one. Not even when he saw them again, years later, passing over him without recognition, only hot anger and sharp words between them and in one brief, illogical moment, Spock wondered what would happen if he said a single word in Vulcan, let the word 'Svai' drop quietly between them in while all the assemblage of Starfleet watched the dawning awareness rise in those eyes.

He did not; his desire for youthful rebellion had died away years ago and now it seemed it was time for Jim, for James Kirk, to learn the same lesson. And so Spock said nothing of the sort, made his points to the Board succinctly and did not think of rain.

Did not think of it at all.

-finis-


	2. These Fevered Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after the events in This Rebellious Nature and Spock is suffering the consequences of his impulsive actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't quite a sequel to This Rebellious Nature. It's more like an AU of it, because, well, I can never leave well enough alone. That said, it will make no sense if you haven't read that one, so stroll down that story first before you give this a try.

Illness was not something Spock was overly familiar with. As a healthy child, he had grown to a healthy adult and aside from the occasional childhood malady, he had in excellent physical condition. Certainly he had never 'caught cold' in the human terminology. Until now. His first visit to Earth brought to him his first bout of feverish illness.

The first rush of fever brought Spock dreams, a mingle of reality and fancy, an almost memory of rain. Of cool lips against his own and cooler water trailing down his cheeks. He woke to the lingering threads of it, seeming less a reality in the gray, damp light of the day.

Caught as he was in a sickening throb of unnatural heat, Spock shifted on his sweat-sticky sheets fitfully, and finally reached for the glass of water on his side table to ease the dryness of his mouth. His hands still felt sleepy and clumsy, and he almost fumbled it to the floor, felt the glass tipping beneath his fingertips and he was already resigned to forcing himself from the bed to get a fresh glass, his thirst too strong to ignore and...

Cool hands caught his own, steadying the glass. "Careful, there. Let me."

Gratefully, he accepted the light pressure of a straw against his lips, drawing cool water down his parched throat. It was only when his thirst was satisfied did he realize that he should be alone, that his father had left him here while he attended to his duties.

Spock opened his eyes carefully and saw bare feet, followed them up a pair of damp trousers and shirt to a face that he had seen twice recently, once in reality and once in dream.

Jim wiggled his bare toes against the carpet. "I left my boots at the door. Didn't want to get too much water all over the floors. I was standing out in the rain for a long time."

No accusation but Spock felt a slight flush stain his cheeks regardless. "My apologies." he stared at the Human sitting next to his bed, slouched in the chair as though it were made especially for him. Perhaps it was, never before had he seen furniture cradle a body so lovingly.

Perhaps his fever was worsening.

The reality of Jim sitting here Iin his rooms/i at the Vulcan Embassy, his wet clothes dripping small puddles onto the floor, suddenly penetrated his fever-fogged mind.

"How...what are you doing here?" he asked hoarsely, struggling to sit up.

"What am I doing here?" Jim shrugged. "You didn't show up so I figured I'd better come to you."

Human logic, of course. He should have realized. Cool hands lightly cupped his cheeks and Spock leaned into them almost helplessly, a faint groan catching in his throat because it felt wonderful against his overheated skin.

Breath against his ear, still cooler than his own. "I know that Vulcans are supposed to be warmer than Humans but this seems excessive."

There was a frown in Jim's voice but Spock did not open his eyes to see it. "Yes, I currently have a fever."

"Shouldn't you see a doctor then?" A deeper frown, Spock imagined in those soft words, even as Jim's lips brushed the sensitive skin of his ear. He shivered in spite of his fever, breath catching.

"I have. The fever is currently assisting in the removal of the virus in my system."

"If you say so." The doubt in Jim's voice indicated that he did not agree with the doctor's assessment, as did the light touch of his hands still on Spock's face, still cool enough to make him sigh softly and lean into the touch.

"I do not believe I will be available for any activities today." Spock informed him with no small amount of bemusement. His illness today was a direct result of, 'getting into some more trouble,' as Jim had phrased it. Searching for trouble had certainly led him to it. Never had he suspected, however, that trouble might come looking for him in the form of a cocky grin and blue eyes.

Spock could not prevent some small amount of regret when Jim pulled his hands away, ruthlessly repressed it as he opened his eyes.

That same grin that was on Jim's face now as he poured more water into the glass and offered it again. "No, I don't think you are. Would you have met me?"

Spock drank again deeply and told himself that he wasn't avoiding the directness of Jim's gaze. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you weren't lying here right now with God knows what kind of fever, would you have actually come to see me?"

"I am uncertain," Spock admitted. "Perhaps."

Jim's grin wasn't angry and his laughter was as sweet and genuine as it had been in Spock's dream, in his memory. "Then it's a good thing I came here, isn't it. Saved you from breaking a promise."

"Yes," he agreed softly. He closed his eyes again against the rising shimmer in his vision, hot, so hot, and if his fever worsened further he would have to induce a healing trance as the doctor had suggested earlier. It was likely that he should do it now, it was logical, much more logical than his urge to continue listening to Jim's voice, to this Human's voice that he barely even knew."How did you get in?"

"Simple, you left an invitation for me at the front door."

"I did not."

"No," Jim agreed. "But the computer thinks you did."

Illogical and now illegal. A wealth of trouble in this, all to be laid at this Human's feet.

Spock turned his face, searching for a cool place and let Jim's voice wash over him again.

"Let me ask you another one," Jim asked, softly, and his hands returned, cool fingertips against Spock's temples and there was no stifling his grateful sigh. "Knowing what happened later, how sick you'd be today, would you still have gone with me?"

"It is illogical to estimate an impossible scenario," Spock informed him hoarsely.

"It was illogical for you to come with me the first time. Would you do it again?" Jim persisted.

The taste of his mouth in the rain, a silvery curtain of wetness around them as Jim touched him, touched him, whispered things to him, dark and sweet as syrup. The memory was as arousing even now and Spock wet his lips, let one hand trail down his bare chest and heard Jim draw a sharp breath. He was naked beneath the sheets, having shed his stifling underclothes hours before and it was tempting to push the sheets aside, to lose himself in the fevered recollection of slick rain and damp, human skin.

Jim caught him by the wrist with two fingers, stilling him and Spock moaned faintly, arching up into the roughness of his sheets against him.

"Don't."Jim murmured, unsteadily. "Don't...do you know what I thought, when I saw you sitting there yesterday?"

"It would be impossible for me to know your thoughts," Spock whispered, breath catching as Jim's grip shifted, his fingers drifting along the back of Spock's hand in the approximation of a kiss. Jim spoke Vulcan, knew something of his people, he had to know, he had to...feverish thoughts tumbling over each other. "But I can assume that you frequently engage in sexual exploits with others. You seemed fascinated with my heritage and that might imply that you saw me as an opportunity to indulge with a Vulcan."

Again, laughter, and Spock was not so familiar with the sound of it that he could interpret it, different from Jim's earlier humor. "That's pretty good. Wrong, but good."

"Perhaps you would care to explain?" The bed shifted as weight settled on it, one knee resting against Spock's hip and he didn't look up at Jim looming over him, reached blindly for him and could only make a helpless, lost sound as his hands were caught, pushed back and pinned against the bed. Tight grip that he could break easily, even ill, and yet he only lay there was Jim straddled him, separated only by thin cloth.

"You aren't the first person I've fucked, that's true," Jim said, softly. "But you are the first one I've gone through all this effort to find. It was pretty easy to find the only Vulcan name on the passenger manifest, that's true, and it was pretty easy to find that same name in the Vulcan Embassy's computer so I could find out where you were staying. Breaking in here, though, that wasn't so easy. I don't look very Vulcan."

"No," Spock shuddered, as Jim moved, undulated against him, it was the only proper word and Spock's Standard was excellent but he could not articulate what he wanted, could only arch up, writhing against the sheets and Jim in a silent plea for more.

"So I did that for you." Jim's voice was closer now, leaning forward. "And you're the first person I ever begged to come back to me."

It was difficult to speak, forcing words past his strangling need."I...I recall it as...more of an order or a demand."

This time the laughter was pressed into Spock's throat, Jim's mouth cool and wet against his skin."I guess if you didn't hear me begging, then that would explain why you weren't going to come back." The faintest edge of teeth against his throat, not quite enough to mark him before Jim pulled back and Spock had to force his eyes open, to look at Jim above him.

He was pinned against his own bed, staring hazily up at Jim and watched those wet, red lips murmur to him, "Want to hear me beg again?"

"Yes," Spock hissed out, because he did, he wanted that voice to speak to him, invade his overheated body and thoughts. IYes, please./i

"Yes," Jim echoed, rolling his hips again and Jim is so easy to move with, as effortlessly as it had been in the rain and this wasn't as good as it had been then, the only point of skin contact is Jim's hands on his wrists. Spock wanted Jim's mouth against his own, wanted to taste, to bite, but he needed to hear him, his words almost like a caress. "Do you know what I want to do to you? What I'd let you do? I saw you sitting there and I Iwanted/i, I touched you right then even though I know Vulcans don't do that. I wanted and you came with me even though it was illogical, so what does that mean, I wonder? Think we're fated to be together, Svai?"

"I do not...believe in fate," Spock choked out.

"Neither do I but talking about it sure turned you on." Finally, Jim's mouth on his own, the hard scrape of their teeth clashing made Spock wince but he only pushed into it harder, pressed his tongue into the eager wet heat of Jim's mouth. Eager, yes, easy, and Spock wanted him.

Wanted him enough to tug at the grip on his wrists, a silent request that was ignored. "I do not appreciate fabrications."

"You think I'm lying?" Jim's grin was still sharp, "I meant every word. You want to fuck me? Then do it."

"I was under the impression would you prefer fucking me." The vulgarity did not stutter on his tongue, not the slightest hint that he'd had some difficulty speaking it. Nothing that would justify the sudden surge of heat in Jim's eyes. "If that is the case..."

He let the sentence dangle, shifting position on the bed into something slightly more provocative, spreading his legs and canting his hips upward, offering. iIf that is the case, then I am right here./i

For the first time, uncertainty crept across Jim's face, blunting the normal confidence.

"Normally, I'd be all over you, but I'm not sure that's a good idea today." A cool thumb stroked across his forehead, testingly.

Now was not the time for nobility, not with heat, unnatural and otherwise, pouring through Spock's veins and pooling between his legs. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed searching for trouble."

"Yeah, and believe me, you have trouble written all over you," Jim said tersely, "I guessed that the first goddamned minute I saw you sitting there, reading, looking like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.

Protest of that opinion and confusion over the assertion warred to be spoken, he was a model student and son, hardly trouble, and butter would melt easily in his mouth even at his normal body temperature. Those words died as Jim leaned in, his eyes dropping to Spock's mouth.

"And I still just had to talk to you," Jim whispered hoarsely, licking Spock's lips vulgarly. "And I probably broke twenty laws with regards to the foreign diplomacy and espionage just to see you today. But you have a nasty fever and I'm not even sure you really believe I'm here. Much as I want you, I can't-"

Jim broke off, almost yelping as Spock finally broke his grip and flipped him over so that Spock was looming over startled blue eyes and protesting lips that he silenced with his own. The heat in him was volcanic, desperate as he worked a hand between them, tearing the fastenings of Jim's trousers in his haste and Spock didn't care, didn't care, only knew that he needed bare skin against his own. Every fragment of his control shattered away from him like overheated glass at Jim's strangled shout as he wrapped a hand around both of them, disjointed thrusts into his grasp that was nothing like their chilled coupling in the rain. This was iheat/i, Jim's mouth on his own and the faint iron tang of Human blood in his mouth as Spock tore his lips free, threw back his head and shouted his release.

Long moments passed and Spock blurrily came to realize that Jim was struggling for breath. Struggling because Spock was crushing him into the bed and with no small amount of effort he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down on him.

And perhaps that was an error on his part. Jim's eyes were deep, shocked blue, his mouth swollen and enticing. It hardly seemed possible to feel a stirring at the sight of it and yet...

"Damn," Jim slurred out, his voice blurred with satisfaction, "You really-" The dazed look abruptly dropped from his gaze and with surprisingly strength he pushed Spock away from him and scrambled from the bed, yanking the blankets up to Spock's chin and straightening his own clothes quickly before he threw himself into the chair.

The door opened only moments after he'd settled himself to admit Spock's father and whatever words Sarek had been about it ask, perhaps inquiring as to the state of Spock's health, died as he saw the Human sitting at his son's bedside.

"You have a guest," Sarek said with a perfect lack of emotion. "The embassy is not known for permitting visitors without certain permissions. If I may ask, how did you come to be here?"

"I left an invitation for him," Spock said, before Jim could answer. Not a lie, the computer would agree with him.

He met his father's eyes calmly, even with the state of his bedclothes, the obvious scents of his room. With some previously unsuspected insight Jim remained silent, a faint, pleasantly friendly smile on his face.

"Well, then," Sarek said, finally. "As I'm certain your visit is concluded, may I ask you to excuse us so that I may speak with my son."

"Sure," Jim said agreeably, and didn't move.

Sarek's lips thinned visibly and Spock winced inwardly. Yesterday had not been spoken of but there would be a harsh lecture from this, of that he was certain.

"I will allow you to say your goodbyes," Sarek announced before he left the room.

Yes, certainly a lecture if not punishment and Spock would accept both willingly. Jim's mouth was still faintly swollen and as Spock watched it curved into that sharp grin, blue eyes meeting his own.

Well worth any lecture.

"I think your fever is better," Jim said softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Spock's cheek.

"Yes," Spock said, softly and Jim laughed again into the quiet between them.

"I better get out of here. See you around, Svai."

"That is not my name," Spock reminded him.

An oh, so Human grin lit Jim's face. "You haven't told me your name."

It was arguably true. Twice now he had been close to this Human, closer than he had been to anyone else in the entirely of his life and he still had yet to inform him of his own name. The logical thing would be to tell him now and put the question to rest.

Spock held Jim's gaze and said nothing, only watched as that sweet grin widened. He leaned in, let his lips just brush against Spock's before he stood. The door opened for him and revealed his father still waiting in the hallway, perhaps already composing a lecture for his wayward son.

"I'll catch you later, Svai," Jim called, giving his father a polite nod as he walked past, bare feet padding softly against the floor. A prophetic statement, perhaps. Spock suspected that he was already well on his way to being caught.

Spock settled back into his bed, straightened his blankets as he prepared himself for his father, perhaps his mother as well if Sarek determined he needed to speak to his wife about their son's indiscretions.

And perhaps his fever was still lingering because as he let his eyes close, Spock found he was drifting to sleep, falling gently back into a dream of blue eyes, or rather, a memory and a voice, so very Human, calling him by a name that wasn't his own.

-finis


End file.
